“Wow, Starbucks is empty. I don’t even know what I want in here,” my platonic friend said.
I’m paying no attention to her, thinking about someone else. “Do I still have that girl’s number?” I glance up from fiddling with my credit cards, insurance cards, and ID to make awkward eye contact with the barista. “We’re gonna need a minute.”
“Do mochas have milk in them?”
“I hope I didn’t lose that phone number. I’m going to put it in my phone right now before I screw it up again like I usually do.”
“Yeah, can I have a tall mocha, but with soy? And no whipped cream.”
“Here it is. I’m telling you, she was absolutely gorgeous. Okay Eight Oh Four . . .”